


Plot Twist: Derek's Still a Virgin

by coffeeinallcaps



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Crack, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeinallcaps/pseuds/coffeeinallcaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m a virgin. Do you need me to spell it out for you? I. Am. A. Virgin. I am a virgin. I, Derek Hale—”<br/>“Okay, I get it, I get it,” Stiles says. “I’m just gonna need some time to digest this information, that’s all.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plot Twist: Derek's Still a Virgin

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in two installments [here](http://coffeeinallcaps.tumblr.com/post/53447102405/plot-twist-dereks-still-a-virgin-part-i) and [here](http://coffeeinallcaps.tumblr.com/post/53708217796/plot-twist-dereks-still-a-virgin-part-ii). Set after S03E03 _Fireflies_.

“Hold up,” Stiles says. “So what you’re saying is—”

“What I’m saying is _exactly what I’m saying_ ,” Derek snaps back somewhat redundantly. He’s on his third lap around the loft, still wearing the remnants of the shirt Boyd and Cora sliced to shreds. Stiles is very much enjoying the strips of skin he can see through the tears in the blood-drenched fabric— a thought which pulls him back to the conversation at hand. “So you’re…”

“ _Yes_ , Stiles, I am.” Derek arrives at the windows and turns on his heels, pacing down the room for the fourth time.

“You’ve seriously never—”

“No.”

“Not even with—”

“Never made it past third base with her. Fortunately.”

Stiles concurs whole-heartedly. “And how about when—”

“Nope.”

“But you’re—”

“Stiles!” Derek arrives at the other end of the room. This time he sags back against the wall, raking his big hands through his already disheveled-looking hair. “I’m a virgin. Do you need me to spell it out for you? I. Am. A. Virgin. I am a virgin. I, Derek Hale—”

“Okay, I get it, I get it,” Stiles says. “I’m just gonna need some time to digest this information, that’s all.”

Derek fixes him with a withering glare.

Stiles crosses his arms so ostentatiously that he almost loses his balance and tumbles off the couch’s armrest. “What?! Have you seen yourself? I’m sorry, but this is, like, the biggest plot twist since the ending of _The Sixth Sense_.”

Derek closes his eyes and bangs the back of his head against the brick wall, once. “Please shut up.”

“Yeah, that makes sense, you calling me back and pretty much _ordering_ me to get my ass over here ASAP to discuss, and I quote, ‘something incredibly important’ and then telling me to shut up when I humor you. So mature, too. You’re so mature, Derek. Remind me again why no one your own age wants to hang out with you?”

Derek slides down the wall, legs parted in a loose V. It makes his jeans look even more uncomfortably tight than usual. Stiles squints to see if he can spot a bulge from this distance, maybe make out whether Derek tucks his gear left or right, and promptly misses what Derek says next.

He tears his eyes away. “Sorry, what was that?”

“That’s not why I asked you to come over,” Derek repeats. He’s looking up at Stiles, eyes soft. There’s a splatter of dried blood near his right temple.

“Then why— oh, no.” Stiles pushes himself to his feet. “Oh, no. No no no. Frederick Jacob Hale, you did _not_ —”

“—that’s not even remotely funny—”

“—call me over here to _lay_ _claim to my fucking virginity_ , what the fuck?” Stiles is the one pacing now, in an attempt to soothe the flurry of flustered thoughts in his head. It doesn’t seem to be working. “That is so many levels of unexpected and inappropriate and _did I mention unexpected_ that I don’t even know where to start.”

“I thought we had chemistry,” Derek says. He’s still sitting on the floor with his legs spread, thigh muscles flexing underneath skintight denim.

Angrily, Stiles turns his back on Derek’s distracting physique and throws his hands up. “I’ve wished you dead more often than I can remember! You call me names! You nearly _broke my wrist the other day!_ That’s what you call chemistry?!”

Derek looks uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed.

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, skidding to a halt in the middle of the room as it dawns on him. “Oh my God! Were you trying to… was that your version of flirting? With me? Have you been trying to flirt with me for…” He turns around, gaping.

In the meantime, Derek has gotten to his feet. “Well, I’m sorry for grossly misinterpreting your behavior toward me,” he says stiffly. “I should go. I have a thing.”

“Now hold on just a diddly-darn minute,” Stiles says. “I never said _I_ wasn’t flirting with _you_.”

They stare at each other.

Eventually, Derek says, “You are infuriating.”

“Better take that back,” Stiles says. “You want in my pants, you gotta start acting like it, buddy.”

Derek looks away. “It’d be the most pragmatic solution, Stiles. I need to protect what’s left of my pack, and you and I are the only ones—”

“Pragmatic my ass. Just admit that you want me.”

Derek rolls his eyes and exhales so hard it almost turns into a growl.

“Derek,” Stiles says. “You could have anyone. _Anyone_. You could walk into any bar and people would be flinging themselves at your feet within seconds.”

Derek scoffs but doesn’t deny it.

“And yet you chose to have this conversation with _me_ ,” Stiles continues. His heart is beating in his throat, but he doesn’t stop. “So come on. Admit it.”

“Fuck,” Derek says. “Fine. I want you.”

Stiles takes a moment to bask in the glory of those words. “All right,” he says. “Let’s see what you’ve got to offer.”

Derek stares at him. Just when Stiles is about to say _I’m joking, I’m not_ that _much of an asshole_ , Derek unfastens his belt and fly at, like, warp speed and starts to peel down his jeans. _Dude, no, I’m just kidding_ – the words dry up on Stiles’ tongue at the sight of plain black boxer briefs, Derek’s thumbs already hooked beneath the waistband.

Derek cocks one eyebrow, smirks, and then pulls his underwear down too.

His dick is nice and thick, thicker than Stiles’, curving a little to the left. It’s flushed red and unapologetically filling up further. Stiles swallows. Derek wraps his hand around the shiny head and strokes down just once before circling two fingers loosely around the base, holding it, taunting.

Stiles gets so hard so quickly he feels dizzy.

“Okay,” he manages. “Okay.”

“Let’s say Friday.” Derek lets go of his dick, bends down to reach for his underwear and pants. “Seven PM. I’ll cook, get a bottle of red, some candles. You bring a DVD. Deal?”

“Uh,” Stiles says. “Deal? Yeah. Yeah, deal.”

“See you on Friday,” Derek says, buckling his belt. He’s still smirking, the asshole.

 

* * *

 

Stiles spends the first few hours of their – for lack of a better word – date in a state of mild stupefaction because of the following reasons:

  1. Derek has actually bought candles;
  2. The table is set with real(!) silverware, crystal(!) wine glasses, and porcelain dinner plates with little flower ornaments(!);
  3. Derek is wearing a pale blue button-down that ripples across his back muscles with his every move because it’s just a little too tight on him, a fact which would be enough to render anyone speechless;
  4. When Stiles shrugged out of his hoodie upon arrival, Derek said, “Here, I’ll take that,” and gently shook out the sleeves before hanging it on one of the pegs next to the door;
  5. Derek has prepared a full three-course meal of veal carpaccio, vegetable lasagna, and crème-brûlée, and what’s more, all of it tastes fantastic. Stiles almost says something about it halfway through dessert, almost makes a sarcastic remark, something – anything – to affirm that he is still Stiles and Derek is still Derek and they’ve still got their weirdly satisfying hate thing going on. When he looks up, though, Derek is very carefully cracking the caramelized layer of his crème-brûlée, face taut with concentration. Stiles decides to keep his jokes to himself.



“Cat got your tongue?” Derek asks during the DVD trailers.

Stiles pulls up his knees and wraps his arms around them. “I thought I’d indulge you for once,” he says. “Unlike those of us who were raised by wolves, I was taught to be an appreciative houseguest, you know.”

“Oh my God, I’ve, like, literally never heard that joke before,” Derek says, and then, in his normal voice, “I don’t even tell you to shut up _that_ often.” He prods at Stiles’ heel. “No shoes on the couch.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, leans back, kicks off his sneakers, and reassumes his position. He rests his chin on his kneecap. His face feels hot; he doesn’t know whether it’s from the wine or because he’s sitting next to Derek, his body heat wrapping around Stiles like a blanket. He sighs. Derek, he realizes, is looking at him.

Stiles says, “What?”

Derek pointedly turns back to the television.

About ten minutes into the movie, Stiles clears his throat. “You know, I gotta admit I’m kind of surprised by all this,” he says, studying Derek’s profile. “I never really pegged you as the romantic type.”

Derek’s eyebrows twitch. “I could’ve just ripped off all your clothes and bent you over the coffee table when you were here earlier this week,” he shoots back. “That what you would’ve preferred?”

“Nah. I kinda dig whole wooing thing.” Stiles lets one of his arms slide down from his leg, into the space between their bodies. His heart rate is accelerating. He wonders, fleetingly, if he should feel embarrassed about it.

Derek huffs. “Just shut up and watch the movie.” He’s smirking a little.

“Jerk,” Stiles mutters under his breath.

Derek doesn’t reply. He shifts and sinks deeper into the couch cushions, closer to Stiles. His crossed arms come apart; his biceps brushes warmly against Stiles’. Their hands touch. Stiles can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

“You’re nervous,” Derek states, cocking an eyebrow.

Stiles says, “Aren’t you?”

He wills himself to meet Derek’s eyes. Their faces are so close he can feel Derek’s breath hit his upper lip.

“’Course I am,” Derek says after a beat, face softening, and just like that they’re kissing. Derek’s stubble scrapes sharply across Stiles’ mouth and a large hand comes up to cup Stiles’ face and, whoa, yeah, there’s Derek’s tongue, nudging against his. It tastes of red wine and vanilla custard and crystallized caramel.

Stiles makes a noise.

Derek hums in response and presses closer. His grip on Stiles’ jaw tightens, his other hand curving around Stiles’ neck. Stiles swallows. It feels as though his entire body is on fire— his face, his mouth area, the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, he is achingly hard.

Derek seems to be phasing out of the kiss, so Stiles chases him, almost thoughtlessly climbing into his lap and grinding their hips together. Derek moans. Their mouths disconnect, but Derek’s warm hands stay where they are, curved around Stiles’ neck and cheek, holding him in place. It’s hot, so fucking hot, and Stiles can’t help but burrow his face in the crook of Derek’s shoulder and exhale, shuddering.

“Stiles,” Derek says, voice low. His hand moves from Stiles’ face to his back, sliding down toward his ass— and it doesn’t stop there, it dips into his underwear and goes straight for his hole, strokes across it teasingly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles says, coming up for air. His entire body is quivering. “Oh my _fuck_ , this is really happening.” He pushes back against Derek’s fingertip.

Derek opens his mouth to say something.

Stiles says, “Derek Hale, I swear to God, if you’re gonna make some sort of stupid fucking comment that will ruin this moment I—”

“Actually,” Derek interrupts him, “I was going to suggest we move to the bed.”

Oh. All right. “Now there’s an idea I could get behind.”

 

* * *

 

Derek undresses them – Stiles first, then himself – with impressive speed and precision. Stiles would crack a joke about it if he weren’t so busy simultaneously mourning the loss of the too-tight dress shirt and salivating at the sight of Derek’s six-pack and treasure trail. (It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but it’s different somehow, knowing he gets to touch and lick, taste, maybe bite a little.)

“You all right?” Derek asks, kicking away his boxer briefs and climbing on top of the bed.

“Just appreciating the view,” Stiles says.

Derek is fully hard too, dick unselfconsciously curving away from his body. The tip slides across Stiles’ skin as Derek moves to hover over him, forearms on either side of his head. Derek smells musky, like aftershave and sex and fresh sweat. Stiles’ stomach dips with lust.

“Honestly,” he says as he reaches for Derek’s dick, “you’ve got no idea how often I’ve jerked off to the thought of this.”

“Yeah?” Derek says, eyes fluttering shut. “Me too.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, “you perv,” and Derek laughs, actually laughs, teeth showing and everything. He dips his head down and starts to thrust into Stiles’ grip, grunting out little noises. Stiles watches the dark head of Derek’s dick appear and disappear and reappear in the tight circle of his hand, which would be funny, probably, if it weren’t so mind-blowingly sexy. He uses his free hand to rub at it with his thumb and forefinger.

Derek moans Stiles’ name loud enough to make Stiles’ spine shudder and shifts his weight onto one arm. His hand closes around Stiles’ dick, jerking it sloppily. He looks wrecked, his hair a mess and the entire upper half of his body flushing pink. He looks relaxed and unguarded and— and kind of beautiful.

“Fuck,” Stiles says, watching the both of them leak precome onto his stomach. He’s overcome by a wave of lust so strong his toes almost curl. “Hey, is it time for the penetration part yet? ’Cause I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to last very long, considering, y’know, virgin, and teenager, and the whole shebang.”

“Nnnghhh,” Derek says. He thrusts into Stiles’ hand a few more times. “Fuck. Okay, go grab your condoms.”

Stiles’ heart shoots up into his throat. “Condoms?”

Derek lifts an eyebrow. “I draw the line at giving you the safe sex talk, Stilinski.”

“No, I— I thought you’d have condoms!”

“I already bought dinner,” Derek points out. “It’s standard sex etiquette stuff for you to bring the condoms.”

Stiles can actually feel the blood drain from his face. “But—”

The corner of Derek’s mouth twitches.

Stiles gasps and punches him in the shoulder. “You asshole! You seriously think _this_ is the right moment to sprout a sense of humor?”

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all, and just when Stiles is about to call him out on it Derek leans down and kisses him deeply, tongue smoothing inside.

“You are the worst,” Stiles mutters after he breaks away. He watches the long muscular line of Derek’s back and ass as Derek rolls off him and reaches for the bottom drawer of the nightstand.

Derek replies, “Get on your stomach.”

“Who says you get to top?” Stiles says, but turns onto his front anyway. He slips his arms under the pillow. It smells of Derek. He breathes in. The bed sheets feel crisp and cool against his skin.

“Did you wash your sheets for this?” Stiles asks.

“Huh?” Derek says, touching the small of Stiles’ back. “Yeah, I washed them this morning. Why?”

Stiles shrugs. “Just wondering.”

“Okay,” Derek says, easily, and then there’s the pressure of a slick fingertip against Stiles’ hole.

“ _Oh_ ,” Stiles says. “Wow. Did you actually just warm the lube up between your hands?”

Derek groans, finger sinking inside. “Yeah, Stiles, I did. Do you think you could stop asking questions?”

“Was that a rhetorical question?”

Derek pushes a second finger in. Stiles moans.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later:

“Jesus Christ, Derek,” Stiles says. “What exactly are you planning to put in there?”

Derek’s entire body stills. “What?”

“You do realize I get myself off like this pretty much every other day, right?” Stiles says, awkwardly straining his neck in a fruitless attempt to look Derek in the eye. “With a vibrator too, whenever I’m a hundred percent certain my dad isn’t going to come home anytime soon. And also, I worked my way up from, like, travel-sized to extra-large back when I was, like, fifteen. So while I appreciate the effort—”

Derek’s fingers flex inside him. “Is there any chance we could rewind to the part where you were all shell-shocked by my dating skills? I liked that part better.”

Stiles reaches behind his back to pat Derek’s thigh. “Just gimme the D, bro.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Derek says. “Please tell me I’m still allowed to back out of this agreement.”

 

* * *

 

“There’s not a single dildo or vibrator in the entire world that could have prepared me for this moment,” Stiles tells Derek. “Not a single one. I could have spent my entire life up to this point constantly shoving things up my ass and I probably still wouldn’t have been prepared. I was woefully unprepared.”

He’s fully expecting a _shut up_ or _please stop talking_ or _that’s it, I’m giving up, I’m done here, get out_ , but Derek doesn’t reply. His dick has stopped sinking into Stiles, too.

“Derek?”

Behind him, Derek inhales sharply. “Give me a second.”

“Are you okay?”

Derek grits out, “Yes.”

“Am I that tight?” Stiles wonders out loud.

“Questions,” Derek grunts.

Oh. Right. “I’m that tight,” Stiles states.

“Yeah.”

“And I feel that good.”

“Yeah.”

“Really fucking good.”

“Yeah.”

“Really, _really_ fucking good.”

“Yeah.”

All right, then. “That’s kind of hot,” Stiles says, shifting. Derek lets out a strangled noise; his fingers tighten where they’re already digging into Stiles’ hipbones. “I feel oddly proud of myself right now.”

“Fuck,” Derek whispers against his back. “Fuck.”

“That’s a good ‘fuck’, right?”

“I don’t know yet,” Derek says, but he moves, sliding deeper. Stiles’ breath catches. “Hey, are _you_ okay?”

“I think the anticipation might be killing me,” Stiles says. He thinks he might actually mean it, too. “This feels so good already, I have no idea if or how I’m going to survive the rest of it.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll last longer than two or three thrusts,” Derek chokes out, forehead thumping down on Stiles’ sweaty back.

“Oh, good,” Stiles says. “Looks like you and I have finally found something we agree on.”

 

* * *

 

Afterward, they lie on their backs, chests heaving.

“Hey, what sort of definition of virginity do you think the sacrificers are adhering to anyway?” Stiles asks once he’s caught his breath.

Derek groans. “What?”

“Well, the traditional interpretation of virginity loss, a.k.a. PIV intercourse, is, like, fucked-up heteronormative, so—”

“What’s PIV?” Derek asks groggily.

“Penis in vagina,” Stiles says. “Obviously. God, you know nothing, do you?”

Derek groans again. “Fucking hell, Stiles.”

“I’m just saying, if penetration’s the key, maybe we should switch it up. You know, just to be safe.”

“Yeah, okay,” Derek says. He yawns. The sheets rustle. An arm is slung around Stiles’ waist. “Tomorrow, after breakfast. Okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says, jaw cracking as he yawns, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Research has shown that reading crack porn is a foolproof way of coping with the stress and anxiety caused by recent Teen Wolf episodes and promos.
> 
> Please come hang out with me [on Tumblr](http://coffeeinallcaps.tumblr.com).


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